The rain fell in heavy drops.
They tapped against the cobblestones—steady, hollow, relentless.
Cold water struck my shoulders, seeped through the fabric, and spread across my skin. I shivered.
The son of Count Ragi stood a few steps away from me.
He stared.
His lips trembled, then he murmured softly,
"…You once were… the light of my life…"
Elena clutched his arm from behind, trying to hold him back.
But Ragi jerked his arm free.
He began to walk toward me.
His steps were unsteady.
Mud splashed with each time his boots struck the soaked courtyard.
There was no gentleness left in his eyes.
Only something smoldering—
a mix of anger and quiet fury.
I instinctively stepped back.
My heel brushed against the tip of Miren's boot behind me.
Ragi reached out toward me.
But when he saw me retreat again, his movement stalled halfway.
His hand remained suspended in the air.
He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky.
Rainwater slid down his face.
Then he laughed.
A dry, hollow sound—
as if he had just witnessed something impossible and was now forcing himself to accept it.
The hand he had raised slowly curled into a fist.
In his palm was an embroidered handkerchief.
The corner bore the crest of House Mariel.
A memory flashed through my mind.
A sword practice session long ago.
A wounded swordsman.
And me, using this very handkerchief to hastily bind his injury.
…So it was him.
Ragi's face twisted as he looked down at the cloth.
The next moment, he drew the sword at his waist.
The blade had barely left the scabbard—
Miren had already rushed forward, placing herself in front of me.
Ragi stopped right before us.
He did not strike.
Instead, he slowly lowered himself onto one knee in the wet mud.
Water splashed around his knee as it hit the ground.
The sword in his hand was held upright.
Then he drove the blade down with force.
My handkerchief was pinned firmly beneath the tip of his sword.
In that instant, I saw a faint red glow flicker from the hilt.
It ran along the spine of the blade like a glowing vein—
then vanished where the steel met the earth.
I did not understand what had just happened.
But when I glanced at Elena—
She was clutching the hem of her dress.
Her hands trembled slightly, as if she were holding onto the only thing keeping her upright.
I looked to the other side.
The son of Duke Barta stood there,
gazing down at Ragi like a man watching a puppet whose strings had just been cut.
His face showed clear disappointment—
as if he had just lost an entertaining show.
But when his gaze met mine—
The corner of his lips curved upward.
He raised one hand.
Two fingers slowly closed together, as if grasping something invisible in the air.
A triumphant smile spread across his face,
like a gambler who had just drawn the best card in his deck.
Ragi slowly rose to his feet.
He staggered as he turned away,
taking step after step back toward his sister.
Elena hurried to support him,
almost using her entire body to keep him from collapsing.
Meanwhile, the son of Duke Barta let out a soft laugh.
He walked over to me
and leaned down close enough that his warm breath brushed against my ear.
"Today, you made my sword kneel to the ground," he whispered.
"Tomorrow… I'll make you kneel at my feet."
I turned my head and glanced at him.
He immediately raised both hands in mock innocence,
his grin bright and playful, like a child who had just successfully teased someone.
But in the next instant—
that expression returned to its usual sneer.
He turned and walked away.
Elena kept looking back at me,
her gaze filled with irritation.
"Let's go, Olan, Elena," the son of Duke Barta called out.
"Or would you like to stay for tea with Lady Alasto?"
No one answered.
Only the heavy rain filled the courtyard—
and the slow creak of carriage wheels rolling across the wet ground as they departed.
An unusual silence settled in after their carriage disappeared behind the curtain of rain.
Only Miren and I remained.
My heart was still beating faster than usual.
I hated these feuds between noble families.
The false smiles.
The half-truths that sounded like threats.
And the debts of favor that were remembered for a lifetime.
All of it exhausted me.
But if it was something that could not be avoided—
…then running away from it would be nothing more than a joke.
I was the daughter of a duke.
If one day I wished to inherit the position of family head,
then what had happened today was only the beginning.
Beside me, Miren still stood motionless,
her gaze fixed on the road where the carriage had vanished.
She turned toward me.
"What did he say to you?"
I did not answer right away.
Miren narrowed her eyes, as if suddenly recalling something.
"And that duke's son… was that Viego?
The one who always had that sly look on his face and kept glancing at us when we used to play in the palace grounds with the princes and princesses?"
I looked at her for a long moment,
deliberately remaining silent for a few extra beats.
Then I smirked.
"If Viego offered you a high enough price to take the head of someone you hated…"
I said, a trace of mockery in my voice,
"I bet you'd be very, very happy to do it, wouldn't you?"
Miren pretended to think.
She rubbed her chin, then skipped over to where Olan's sword was still stuck in the ground.
My handkerchief remained pinned beneath it.
"Who knows," she said in an overly cheerful tone.
"If it were the head of my best friend… tch, tch…
I'd probably need a whole pile of handkerchiefs to go with it.
I'd cry enough to dry up a river and turn a desert to dust."
I really wanted to take off my shoe and throw it straight at that infuriatingly calm face.
But the thought vanished the moment I saw Miren bend down and grab the hilt of the sword.
She pulled.
The sword… did not move.
Miren frowned.
She switched hands.
Then she gripped the hilt with both hands and pulled harder.
It still did not budge—not even a fraction.
"What the hell…?"
She muttered and tried again.
This time, she had to kneel fully on the wet ground.
Mud splashed onto the expensive noble dress she was wearing.
Her breathing began to grow heavy.
I stared at her in a daze.
The ground was soaked from the rain.
Logically, soft earth like this should have made it easier than usual to pull a sword out.
Yet the blade remained there—
perfectly upright.
As if it had grown roots into the soil.
Miren panted,
wet hair clinging to her cheeks.
"Don't tell me… he used aura, did he?"
"Huh?" I blinked. "Aura?"
Miren did not answer immediately.
She slipped a hand inside her coat, then flicked it outward.
A small mirror flew out.
It hovered in front of her, wrapped in a faint golden glow.
The surface of the mirror turned toward the sword.
In its reflection,
I clearly saw a stream of red light coiling around the blade like a ghostly serpent.
Miren snapped her fingers.
The mirror instantly shattered into tiny particles of light,
then slipped back into her body as if it had never existed.
She let out a sigh.
"A small number of swordsmen who reach master-level aura can leave their aura on a weapon for a long time," she said.
"It looks like he used that."
She brushed mud off her hands,
grimacing as she looked down at her soiled clothes.
"To break a weapon that's being held in place by aura like this…"
she continued, her voice lowering,
"you'd need stronger aura or reverse the flow of it. Troublesome."
She looked down again at her noble ceremonial dress.
The hem was stained with mud from when she had fallen earlier.
Miren made a face.
"Damn it… dirty again.
The old man's going to use this as an excuse to lecture me. Lend me—"
"I know what you were about to say."
I cut her off.
"A rented outfit… five hundred gold."
Miren froze.
"My clo—"
"What is it?" I tilted my head, deliberately feigning innocence.
"The contract never said I had to cover your clothing expenses. I'm only responsible for your food and living costs."
I looked her up and down from head to toe.
Then I deliberately dragged out my words.
"Expensive ceremonial dresses like these…
you should probably think twice before getting them dirty."
I paused for a beat.
Then I smirked.
"Or—
you could pay attention to my head and name your price in advance."
After saying that, I turned my back on her.
Leaving her standing there, I walked straight toward my carriage.
Behind me, Miren fell silent for a few seconds.
It seemed she was actually considering what I had said.
Then suddenly—
"Rosaaa!"
She shouted in the rain.
Heavy footsteps splashed behind me as she ran after me and climbed into the carriage, her face still flushed with anger.
Inside, the carriage was cramped and smelled faintly of rain.
Miren dropped into the seat opposite me.
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her face away.
After a while, once her anger had cooled, she finally spoke.
"That sword…
is it really fine to just leave it there, stuck in the ground like that?"
"It's fine," I replied briefly.
"That's church land anyway. The Church will handle it themselves."
Miren let out a soft snort.
But the corner of her lips gradually lifted again, her familiar mischievous grin returning.
"I'm curious to see who'll be brave enough to pull it out," she said.
"The sword bears Count Ragi's crest, and your handkerchief has your family's emblem embroidered on it."
She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming.
"If some fool actually touches it…
should I take the chance to tear into the prey and grab a small bite alongside Count Ragi?"
She giggled.
"Lord Olan probably wouldn't mind—
he might even be happy enough to reward me extra if I hand over some particularly unpleasant person."
I glanced at her.
Then I crooked a finger, beckoning slightly.
Miren frowned,
but she still leaned closer out of reflex.
I pointed toward the front of the carriage.
The coachman sat upright.
A dark cloak draped over his shoulders.
Both hands held the reins steady in the rain.
From behind—
that silhouette looked suspiciously familiar.
Miren stared for a few seconds.
The smile on her lips vanished.
"…Wait."
She narrowed her eyes,
trying to see more clearly through the curtain of rain.
At the same time, a memory surfaced in my mind—
from that morning, before we had left the estate.
Father had called me into his study.
Sir Riculos had been there as well.
Father had said there was no need to go that far.
But Riculos had insisted on disguising himself as the coachman to ensure our safety.
Because he was worried that his foolish daughter would fail to complete her task.
At that thought, I had to cover my mouth to suppress a laugh.
The coachman in front slightly turned his head.
It was only a partial side profile—
but it was enough to see the vein bulging at his temple.
Miren froze completely.
Her trembling hand lifted to point at the coachman,
then she turned to me, her voice wavering.
"Why is…
he here?
And why is he disguised as a coachman?"
I immediately switched to a pitiful expression.
One hand covered my mouth.
My voice trembled as if I were about to cry.
"I never expected you to be someone so obsessed with material wealth…"
I lowered my head and pulled out a handkerchief,
dabbing at the corners of my eyes.
"I truly didn't think you would sell yourself so cheaply…"
I took a deep breath,
then continued in a voice far more choked than necessary.
"Oh…
my dear friend…
the one who will one day inherit the legacy of someone as honorable as Sir Riculos…
to behave in such a disappointing way…"
Miren's expression shifted from shock to bright red—
then slowly to a purplish shade of fury.
"You—"
she choked,
"how dare you— you—"
Outside the carriage, someone cleared their throat loudly.
The sound rang out clearly,
as if to emphasize that he had heard every single word.
Miren's hands, which had been reaching for my neck, froze in midair.
She turned her head toward the front.
I simply smiled back at her.
Miren slowly withdrew her hands.
Her lips trembled, choked with frustration.
For a few seconds, she just stood there,
as if trying to find a way to retaliate without making the coachman in front turn around again.
In the end—
She suddenly snatched the handkerchief out of my hand.
Before I could react,
she had already crawled into a corner of the carriage and lowered her head.
Then she began gnawing at the cloth like a starved animal.
"Rosaaa…
just you wait…"
She muttered through clenched teeth,
each word distorted by the fabric in her mouth.
The embroidered threads stretched taut,
letting out faint ripping sounds in the cramped space of the carriage.
She kept biting at the handkerchief,
her face a mix of grievance and near tears.
Watching that,
the irritation in my chest eased slightly.
I leaned back against the carriage wall and turned my head to look outside.
The rain had only grown heavier.
Droplets hammered against the carriage roof in a steady rhythm,
like a curtain of sound muffling everything else.
The sky had shifted from the pale light of morning to a bleak gray.
It seemed this rain would last for quite a while.
A name surfaced in my mind.
Vangell Alasto.
Today, somehow,
he had helped me escape a situation that could have turned far worse.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment.
Then I reminded myself silently:
Today, I owed him a favor.
But that debt would not be forgotten.
One day…
I would repay it.
The carriage rocked slightly as the wheels passed over a rough patch of road.
The sound of hooves.
The clatter of wooden wheels.
Blending with the rain.
It continued like that for the rest of the journey—
Until the carriage gradually slowed.
Then came to a complete stop before the gates of the Mariel estate.